


Cling Tight

by JackieSnax



Category: Starling - gogglesque & theyoungdoyley
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-02-02 11:12:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12725526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackieSnax/pseuds/JackieSnax
Summary: There were six different kinds of plastic wrap in this supermarket.





	1. Six

**Author's Note:**

> I dunno, dudes. We need an update. This is why shit like this happens. Anyway: enjoy some starling crack.

There were six different kinds of plastic wrap in this supermarket.

It had taken Elliott approximately five minutes to find them. He’d had to take a moment at the door to adjust to the whiplash of reality, of cereal boxes and distant pop music and supermarket stew glugging at the register, early am faces glancing blearily at him and then away as he stood frozen, wearing nothing but his ____ and the green cloak that Roy’d been wearing before, his cloak, knit specifically for his hue, and now it smelled like the warm inside of Roy’s neck, Roy’s hands alternating between gripping at him and trying not to, a gentle laugh turning into a gasp, turning into this other sound, breathy and low at once. 

He is 100% positive he and Alex would’ve made fun of that sound, in the distant lifetime of before Astris. They had, for obvious reasons, never bothered to look into human sex anything. But if they had happened upon it somehow, it would’ve been mocked mercilessly. Alex probably would’ve made it their ringtone, just to make the humans around them uncomfortable. 

As it was -

Elliott actually has to let out a hum just to swallow the thrum that rises in his throat, the throat Roy’s face was against less than an hour before, oh ____. 

An elderly gold in a nurse’s tunic looks up from their equally dazed and exhausted contemplation of the plastic wrap to stare. Elliott tries very hard to look considering, and hums again thoughtfully.

They walk away rather quickly, sans wrap. He spends a truly stupid moment fretfully wondering if they suspect what the plastic wrap is for, somehow. 

The discovery he and Roy had made couldn’t possibly be common knowledge, though, right? It was true he had never researched this. At first just because: ew, why. And then with tremendous self control.

He wondered what had happened to that.

Honestly it had been abandoned during the fight. And then barred from re-entry by the way Roy’s face had crumpled after, the way he flinched back from Elliott, as if Elliott would, could ever-

He hadn’t looked at Elliott like that since before the antigrav gym. Like Elliott was a dangerous creature that might maul him. Elliott found the emotional fallout of that look bleaker than before. Less rage, more emptiness. 

Elliott opens his eyes. Six different brands of plastic wraps come blearily back into focus. 

Here was the thing: touch was different, to stellaraptors. That was actually something he’d been planning on explaining to Roy, before -

Hm.

_____. It translated into English as ‘skin hunger,’ the need to touch. To reassure your body of another’s existence, to sooth and calm and care for. When someone you love is in pain, is scared, is in need of comfort, you touch them. You want to, in your soul, in your bones. It seems as necessary a thing as breathing. 

Before human occupation, hospitals had even allowed one member of a patient’s kin to be present during surgery, to hold them. To anchor them, and to anchor the family, the loved one. Elliott had grown up knowing that, distantly - that touch was important. He’d wanted to tell Roy.

Touch was different, here. That’s what he’d wanted to say. 

That he’d spent at least half their semester together almost hysterical with this longing just to touch Roy’s hair, that he hadn’t been able to look at Roy right since the bruise, swollen and discolored and really honestly just aching to be very delicately brushed with the pad of his thumb, that it meant something immense and terrifying, that he felt _____, for a human, for Roy specifically.

That part he hadn’t intended to say. Had not said, praise ____. But he would’ve. Oh, he would’ve, would’ve confessed every pathetic, hopeless dream, the whole fantasy he’d crafted at Astris, when Roy had been his world and had kept his feather and that meant something to humans and -

He’d just wanted to touch Roy’s hair. Because they weren’t going on the run. Roy wasn’t becoming a farmer, he wasn’t learning to cook, and they weren’t re-igniting that world of theirs, the safe haven that blossomed around them when they were alone together.

They were parting bruised and angry, and Elliott didn’t think Roy would write, this time. He didn’t think he’d be able to abandon his pride enough to write first, either.

So. That had been the plan. Do what he’d planned to do at school. Teach Roy.

Touch his hair. Just once!

Then Roy had asked to be touched other places. 

“Since it doesn’t mean the same thing to me.”

Elliott had had this recurring dream at school about Roy asking to be touched the way he touched Elliott. Asking Elliott to show him what it felt like. Falling apart slowly under Elliott’s hands as he realized what it felt like, what he’d been doing.

Wanting more after that.

That wasn’t going to happen, though. Obviously, obviously. Even beyond the fact that it wouldn’t work that way, obviously wouldn’t work that way, because Roy was human, because Elliott wasn’t, because of Roy’s face when he’d found out what they’d been doing, so much disgust -

Obviously.

Elliott had no justifiable explanation for why he’d done it, ran his finger down the delicate brown shell of Roy’s ear, brushed the indent right beneath it, and then again, something like pain building in his chest.

Then Roy’d shivered under him, and he had quietly begun to lose his mind.

A stroke down his scalp and Roy had arched under him. Swallow a thrum. The lightest circles traced on his temples, his head back, this is the point in the dream where he turns around and -

He hadn’t, though, of course. Of course.

It had taken effort, to drag his hands back, tangle them in Roy’s hair. Return his breathing to normal. 

He was so utterly fucked.

Then -

Their first kiss had been fast, and brutal, and he’d shut it down as soon as he’d realized what was happening, or, well, at least a second after that. Not because -

He’d just had to take a moment to believe what was happening, alright, it wasn’t -

Anyway. The second had been a bit like the first.

The third - 

Roy’s hand on his cheek. His pinky just barely skimming his jaw. He’d shut his eyes, pulled Elliott forward.

So very, very soft. So very, very close to ____, too, just a little farther and their cheeks would’ve slid together, and Elliott had been wound tight, holding his breath, but he had deflated then and just looked. 

Roy’s eyes were shut. 

Then, again. As if he couldn’t help himself, again. Delicate, as if Elliott might break.

So close.

He hadn’t moved his hand after. It had stayed on Elliott’s cheek, that pinky barely brushing, and it couldn’t have been an accident, and then Roy’d been looking at him, so close, so very close, and then he’d asked -

Well. He hadn’t even finished the question.

Roy’s hands on his jaw again, gentle and familiar, please, and then he’d wanted to know what to do next, and Elliott had been utterly helpless to do anything but (finally, finally) push his face against Roy’s, all his reasonable terror transformed into just please don’t freak out.

Roy had not freaked out. Roy had pushed his soft face against Elliott’s like he’d been starving for it, smooth cheek against his, hot breath on his neck, Roy so very warm against him, impossibly warm, alien warm.

Then. Concession after concession. Just this, just that, just clothed. Always a plan to stop. Resume sanity. Because Roy wouldn’t want much anyway, didn’t seem to necessarily want anything but to be distracted, and Elliott had ‘gotten swept up in it.’ That was the phrase he’d decided on, while it was happening. Like a deep, stupid undertow. No one blames the victim in their own drowning, and Elliott could live with that, could live with getting ‘swept up in it’ and distract Roy and make him smile like that more, make his eyes soft and comfortable again, wring the anxiety from his soul, trace the muscles on his back, feel his eyelashes flutter against his jaw -

It was supposed to be an accident. 

At this point, though, there is a shopping trip involved. There is the energy and focus to get dressed, rush out into the night with a goal in mind, interact with normal, same-species fucking people, and then return with a very real aim to continue positively thrumming in his bones.

Elliott figures that makes this whole ‘intercultural’ Event pretty pre-meditated. Which leaves him totally blank on how to approach this, or anything, or anyone, ever again. Probably. 

He grabs the plastic wrap right in front of him, his heart hammering, and starts towards the checkout before turning back and trading it in for the most expensive brand.

That. That was probably safest, right?

Another dash of anxiety sends him back among the aisles, trying to find other things that will make the plastic wrap less suspicious, just in case this is common knowledge. He grabs a thing of milk, too, because, well. That’s comforting to humans, right? The milk unfortunately makes the whole thing suspicious again, though. He doesn’t realize until the blue at the register picks it up and stares at him.

He can’t think of an explanation in time, so he settles for shrugging. Then bolting as soon as he’s handed his bag.

The moon is high and bright. ‘Big.’ 

Elliott wishes with a sudden fierceness that he could’ve shown Roy his moon under different circumstances. That he’d taken Roy to that beach without someone chasing them there. Or not that one - the stretch by the quarry, more isolated, he’d be more comfortable. 

If there was more time -

But there isn’t, is there?

There’s only tonight. And not much left of that.

Elliott breaks into a run.


	2. Chapter 2

They’d been kneeling on the bed. Both naked. Facing each other. Staring at each other.

About twenty seconds previous, Elliott had reached out a very confident hand towards a part of Roy he had not touched yet, and then frozen. Roy thought he might die.

“I can, uh... go first, if you want,” Roy said when another few seconds went by with no movement. 

Elliott blinked, seeming to come out of a trance, and then hummed slightly, nodding. 

Roy reached out a hand and then froze. Well.

Elliott had some… interesting things, happening there. Lots of stuff to touch.

Roy started with what looked most familiar to him. Both of those. Um.

He dragged two fingers delicately up, and then down. Where… something else was. Something else to touch. Something wet, oh jesus.

His mouth, his hands, these all felt cool against Roy’s skin, but now, he felt very warm.

“What feels good?” Roy asked after a moment of just sort of trying stuff out.

“Yes,” Elliott said softly, and then balked, staring up at the ceiling, “I mean, it’s all, it’s fine, it’s,”

Roy laughed, delighted, head dropping to rest on Elliott’s shoulder, palm pressing for a moment, and Elliott let out an odd, strained coo and suddenly Roy was on his back.

Elliott froze over him.

The stared at each other. 

Roy did it again. And again. And again and again.

Elliott’s face dropped to his neck. Roy’s hand was tingling, zinging, actually… kind of…. stinging?

Roy decided to ignore that.

A few more minutes and the thrumming again, Elliott reaching down and touching him cautiously, but honestly even that was doing A Lot, and Roy’s hand was really stinging now, no, fuck, fuck.

He. Did. Not. Dwell. On. It.

Suddenly, his hands were being pulled away. Pinned by his head. Elliott over him.

He could see himself reflected in Elliott’s eyes. 

They stared at each other, breathing. 

Then Elliott was moving up, his face in Roy’s hair, one hand still pressing Roy’s wrist into the bed, the other reaching down, tracing down Roy’s side, down to his hip. 

A puff of breath against Roy’s ear, and then, cautiously, “Can I…?”

Elliott let the sentence trail off. Roy’s hand was literally on fire. 

“Yes,” he gasped.

Elliott seemed to melt down onto him, and suddenly they were touching everywhere.

It didn’t make sense. That just this felt so very good. For a moment they just lay there. Roy sighed into Elliott’s neck. Elliott shuddered. His grip on Roy’s hip tightened.

Roy’s hand -

Actually. Other parts were starting to….

“Wait,” Roy forced out.

Immediately, as if he’d been expecting it, Elliott was up and off him. Was, in fact, off the bed. Roy grabbed his arm to stop him from moving even farther away, and Elliott froze. His crest was down, a sudden anxiety all over him, and Roy kind of hated himself. “Are you alright?” Elliott asked.

“Um,” Roy said, “well,” and he held up his hand, trying to think of how to explain this delicately. 

To his shock, it was raw looking, the fingers slightly swollen. 

Elliott grabbed it and stared, then stared down at the Other Part that was sort of now also starting to sting, then let out a hissing whistle and hefted Roy roughly to his feet, dragging him into the bathroom.

Roy certainly didn’t need any instructions, but Elliott still turned the water on for him (too cold) and then, to Roy’s horror, grabbed soap and made like he was going to - 

“”Ok, ok! I’ve got it! I’ve got it!” Roy yelled, grabbing the soap out of Elliott’s hands. 

Elliott stepped back quickly, as if stung. 

There was silence as Roy scrubbed, internally cursing everything, literally everything, that had ever existed. He wanted this stupid planet to open up and swallow him whole.

“Does it hurt?” Elliott asked after a moment.

Roy looked up. Elliott had moved to the far side of the bathroom, by the door, and was standing ramrod straight and staring at him, unblinking. His crest was still lowered, his face impassable. Roy glanced down at his hand. It was looking better already at least, and his other bits weren’t stinging quite so much anymore either. “I mean,” Roy said dully, “it doesn’t now.”

“Oh,” said Elliott softly, “but it did… then?”

“... kind of, yeah.”

Silence.

Then an explosive breath, and Elliott snapped, “Why didn’t you say anything, then?”

Roy shut his eyes. Chose his words carefully. “I just,” he settled on, “really, really, really didn’t want it to be true.”

Elliott stared. Roy took a page out of Elliott’s book and shrugged. Elliott looked away.

“Don’t read anything weird into this, ok?” Roy added hastily.

“What would I read into it?” Elliott asked the wall.

“I dunno!” Roy said, feeling frantic, “It just… seems like something you’d read something weird into.”

Elliott bared his teeth, “Like what, Roy? What would I read into this?”

Roy shook his head helplessly. “I dunno,” he said weakly, “stuff?”

Elliott said nothing. After a moment, he left, shutting the bathroom door behind him.

Roy sat down and buried his face in his hands. Tried to calm down.

He turned the water on hot and scrubbed again. Then he curled up under the stream and shut his eyes. 

He stayed that way until the anxiety of not seeing Elliott’s reaction to All This was stronger than the anxiety about seeing said reaction.

Then he toweled off, stared miserably at his wet clothes for a moment, debating putting them on, and then forced himself to instead wrap yet another towel around his waist as a compromise before taking a deep breath and opening the bathroom door.

Elliott wasn’t there.

Roy walked into the middle of the room. Looked around again, as if he could’ve missed him. Sat down on the bed they’d so recently vacated, the blankets a twisted heap on the floor.

After a moment Roy reached down and pulled the blanket up and over his head. He curled up in the space he’d been in before, heart hammering for a different reason, now.


	3. Chapter 3

Roy was not standing naked in the doorway when Elliott opened it. There was not a swarm of human police there to protect the chastity of their promise child. There was not an angry mob out front, there to protect the sanctity of sex itself.

All that was secondary to the following, though: the door had not been broken off its hinges, the room had not been invaded while he was gone, a solid stone of an abruptly real fear rising in his throat as he fled along the dimly lit streets towards the motel, their window seeming raw and exposed out front. The light on, inside - they hadn’t thought to turn it off, Elliott hadn’t wanted to, but anyone could’ve looked in and -

The door slams open without him meaning it to, and there’s a yell from the bed, and Elliott hisses quickly, “It’s just me!” at the same moment Roy says, stunned, “I thought you’d left.”

Elliott stares at him. 

Stares.

Roy blinks innocently up at him, like he hasn’t said anything, wonderful, it was gonna be one of these.

But then Roy’s face breaks in his mind again, he flinches back again, and Elliott finds an iota of the self-control he’d up till now assumed had abandoned him.

If not for good, at least until Roy went home.

The thought winds him a bit. 

“What’d you buy?” Roy asks. He’s timid, possibly dimly aware that he’s wounded Elliott, or ‘offended him,’ as he’d put it. 

“Nothing,” Elliott snaps. Roy looks down at the bag, and Elliott sighs, dropping it on the table. “Milk,” he says, and chucks the carton at Roy, “supplies, I don’t know. I wouldn’t leave.”

“Milk,” Roy repeats, and stares down at the carton.

Elliott feels suddenly ridiculous.

He flees quickly to the window to draw the shades tighter, even though it didn’t seem like anything was even going to be happening, because of course it wasn’t. But they had been left slightly ajar, and Roy was being hunted and if they found him in this real reality it wouldn’t be a fight and then an outlaw lifestyle, Elliott knew that. ____, Roy probably knew that. 

In reality, Elliott would most definitely die for him, and then Roy would probably die anyway, so. Best to avoid that.

It took Elliott a moment to realize there was a strange sound coming from Roy.

He turns, and to his horror, Roy’s face was in his knees, the milk clutched on his lap, his back shaking, and all Elliott’s rage melts, his hands are on Roy’s back and in his hair and he says, “Roy -” before he realizes, in a second kind of horror way, that Roy is laughing.

Elliott jerks back. Roy grabs at his arm with his strange strong monkey grip though and is going, “Wait, wait!” before Elliott can even get far.

“What. What is so funny?” Elliott snaps, jerking his arm away.

“I’m sor - I mean, it’s just - it’s like if I got you seeds or something, I dunno.”

“I like seeds.”

“I know you do! Ok, birdfeed.”

Elliott stiffens and stares at Roy, who had the grace to flinch. “Humans,” he says tersely, “drink milk. They drink it all the time. They drink it enough that it’s in virtually every supermarket I walk into these days, except the few corner stores that are still very much ours, despite the fact that -”

“Ok, ok! But like. I dunno. It’s not like a way of life. I don’t even drink it anymore, really. It’s more for kids.”

“Roy. You brought milk from the cafeteria virtually daily.”

“That’s chocolate milk, that’s different.”

“Oh!” Elliott cries, flinging up his hands, “So it’s the wrong milk. Excuse my gesture for being imperfect, I simply heard that milk was calming, so I -”

“Calming? Huh?” Roy says, looking vaguely offended, of all things.

“You,” Elliott states, “are stressed. Of course you are.”

“Yeah. And you were doing a pretty good job of calming me down without bringing dairy into it.” Roy suddenly falters, flinches, looks away, “But,” he adds, “if we’re done with that, it’s all good. Thanks. It was, uh. Fun. I can make do with milk.”

As if to prove this, he opens the milk and takes a giant glug. He chokes a bit, though, and some dribbles down his face. Roy grabs at the towel around his waist, seemed to think better, and, to Elliott’s horror, instead wipes his face on the bed. 

Elliott shut his eyes, wondering abruptly how he had ever been so ridiculously attracted to this creature.

“So,” Roy said, “I’m a dumbass, you’re right. That did calm me down.”

Elliott opens his eyes. Roy smiles sheepishly at him, ducking his gaze once shyly.

Elliott wonders abruptly how he could possibly be so ridiculously attracted to this creature. 

“I’m going to wash up,” Elliott says, standing. He pulls off the cloak, the cloak that smelled like Roy, and then nods rather awkwardly to Roy before ducking into the bathroom.

He does not lock the door.

Roy barges in after he’s undressed and the water’s on cool and he’s staring at himself in the mirror, utterly blank, completely distracted, wondering if he can get away with something he probably should not attempt.

Elliott jumps, but not as high as Roy, who flings the door shut again almost as soon as he opens it with a “Shit!” and then “S… uh, I just… well…”

Elliott opens the door.

Roy looks down, and then up, and there is such a fragile kind of zeal on his face.

Clutched in his hands is the plastic wrap.

Elliott doesn’t say anything. His heart is hammering in his ears, and Roy takes a deep breath, opens his mouth, and says, “You are such a fucking genius, you know that?”

Elliott startles, and then laughs. And then Roy’s thrown his full weight at him again, Roy’s in his arms and his cheek is against Elliott’s, his laughter puffing against Elliott’s jaw, and Elliott gets out ‘common sense, really,’ before Roy’s mouth is on his again, soft and insistent and probably not getting what it wants at all but Roy seemed happy.

He seemed. So very, very happy.

Elliott lifted him, and his mouth made an o as he was placed gently back on the sink, just to make them closer to level, just so he could peer into Roy’s face like he had before, but Roy said ‘genius’ again, and his legs wrapped abruptly, tightly around Elliott, like legs worked that way, except Roy’s did, and -

Five minutes later, Elliott resurfaces, scrambling for the wrap, Roy’s teeth grazing his ear when he ducks. His hands shake and his claws tear it immediately, but then Roy’s small, wide hands take it delicately from him, contradictions in the way they look - thick alien paws with blunt nails - and the way they move. So carefully, so softly, over any task.

Elliott grabs one of those hands and kisses it. Or, at least, pushes his mouth against it. Roy’s done this at least twice tonight, so he thinks it must be normal, and he’d wanted to do it, but Roy falters suddenly. Laughs, softly. Looks at Elliott with his soul open, and level, and Elliott peers down into it and realizes something truly terrifying.

Something to freak out about, later. When he's not getting 'swept up in it.' 

“Do you need - “ Elliott says quickly, wondering already how to finish that, because he knew humans had sex for longer, and so far it had already been a lot longer than he’d expected, but -

“No,” Roy says, “Do you -”

“No,” Elliott says immediately. Then he laughs, startling himself, and Roy too, but Roy just laughs with him. “There,” he gets through, eventually, “Is something deeply wrong with both of us.”

Roy’s hand on his cheek. “At least it’s both of us,” he points out, “coulda easily just been one. Then what.” 

Then what.

They argue, because of course they do, about the plastic wrap. Layers, and all that, and if they should happen, and when Elliott wins that argument, how many there should be.

They decide on four, sloppily make it to three, and then Roy distracts him so thoroughly that, well.

Three was probably enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure what's wrong with me. I just thought their sex scene went down easier than expected. Like: imagine.
> 
> Anyway, we're probably about to face the music of their lovely reprieve from all the suffering. They deserved some cute fluff before that happened.


	4. Chapter 4

Elliott and Roy had now had sex one point five times, Roy figured. Which was one time more than Roy and Cosmo had, thank  _ god. _

 

Point five times less than Elliott and Kenna had. 

 

But but, but! Roy was pretty sure those two times had not happened within a few hours of each other, and  _ theirs _ sure had.

 

Point five pre-plastic-wrap, of course. Roy was counting that, for suresies. Then the prolific  _ post plastic wrap _ , which honestly had not been  _ long _ but in their defense it had been a whole semester of kissing chastely. 

 

Also, Roy wasn’t really sure how long stellaraptors had sex for. That was giving him some Anxieties, for sure. 

 

He’d been living hard in them that morning, after waking up to an empty motel room.

 

He had a solid ten seconds of pure  _ panic _ and something far more wounded before he noticed a note on the pillow beside him scrawled in Elliott’s quick script - ‘no news, already checked. be right back.’ Nothing else, of course - no explanation or assurances. 

 

Roy stared at the note. Then he looked for the comp to check for news, but strangely, it seemed Elliott had taken it with him. Then he got up and paced a bit. His clothes were still wet, so he got back in bed. Then up again, to turn on the TV, which wasn’t even working now. Then almost to bed, but then back to put on his boxers, at least. Then, because he was in the bathroom, to brush his teeth as best he could with his finger and the tiny tube of toothpaste the motel had supplied, because he didn’t remember when he’d done that last and oh jeezus, Elliott’s mouth had been  _ right there, _ hadn’t it.

 

Right  _ there.  _

 

The thought seemed to melt in Roy’s mind like butter in a hot pan. Sizzling. He stopped his work on his teeth to touch his own mouth, very lightly. 

 

He was in love with Elliott.

 

He should be freaking out. He should  _ really _ be freaking out right now. 

 

His reflection in the mirror grinned dopily back at him, mouth frothed up with toothpaste. He spat. Washed out his mouth. Spun dizzily in a circle, hugging himself. 

 

He was in love with Elliott he was in love with Elliott he was in love with Elliott!

 

And Elliott at least  _ wanted him! _ That part was for certain. 

 

Then again.

 

Anxiety returned like a smack in the face.

 

Then  _ again, _ where was Elliott?

 

What did Be Right Back even  _ mean? _

 

He wouldn’t leave. He’d said that last night. Had, in fact, been  _ offended _ that Roy thought he would. So Roy wasn’t thinking that. Nope, no, nooope.

 

Wasn’t thinking that…

 

The door opened. Roy dove out of the bathroom. Elliott paused in the frame and stared at him, then glanced hurriedly behind himself as if he was being followed before shutting the door. 

 

Roy blinked. “Is everything alright?” He asked.

 

Elliott glanced at him and then away. “Yes?” he said. He was carrying a box, which he set on the table before pulling off his cloak. “I brought breakfast.”

 

“Oh,” said Roy, “Cool, thanks.”

 

They stared at each other.

 

Roy opened the box and peeked in. Donuts. Maybe, anyway. Ok, cool. His stomach felt like a storm of rampaging butterflies were consuming it, though, so. Maybe later. He closed the box.

 

Elliott was still staring at him.

 

Fuck.

 

“So,” Roy said,  _ I’m in love with you, _ he thought, “was it… good weather outside?”

 

This seemed to break whatever spell they were under, at least. Elliott rolled his whole head, like he did, and sat down with a huff. Roy laughed and plopped down next to him. Not quite touching.

 

But maybe. It wouldn’t be a big deal, just to move his leg over slightly. Press it against Elliott’s. It should honestly be  _ nothing _ , compared to what they’d gotten up to last night, but-

 

“Roy,” Elliott said suddenly, with the air of Starting A Conversation, and Roy looked up quickly. 

 

“Huh?” he said.

 

“We…. have some things to talk about.”

 

Roy took a deep breath, and quickly pushed touching Elliott’s leg with his out of his mind. Instead, he turned and pulled both legs up on the bed, crossing them, facing Elliott. “Ok,” he said.

 

Elliott didn’t say anything for a moment. He wasn’t looking at Roy, still, was staring at the box of donuts, and Roy was about to helplessly attempt opening the conversation up (with something calm and not needy and not ‘I’m so in love with you oh my god oh my  _ god’) _ when Elliott took a deep breath and started, “In both our cultures, there exists a… kind of relationship that allows for what we’ve participated in.”

 

“What we’ve  _ participated in?” _

 

Elliott glared at him for the barest second before looking away. Roy bit his lip to keep from smiling.

 

“Otherwise… unconnected people, engaging in sexual activity for recreation. Casual fun, I saw it called once, in one of your movies.”

 

“Oh,” Roy said. Elliott still wasn’t looking at him. Was, in fact, staring sadly at the box of donuts. 

 

Was maybe just as unsatisfied with this label as Roy was.

 

“I mean,” Roy continued, “that is why I hang out with you, you know. All the casual fun.” He flicked Elliott’s ear.

 

Elliott jumped, turning to glare at him. Roy kissed him.

 

Elliott was stock still under him, so Roy reached up. Gently dragged his finger down Elliott’s jaw, before reaching up again, burying all his fingers in the soft down there, curling them in.

 

A breath against his lips. “So,” Elliott said softly, cautiously, “... not that, then.”

 

“Mm,” Roy said, dropping his mouth down, kissing Elliott’s chin, his jaw, the space below his ear. Winding his fingers through Elliott’s feathers lightly, so lightly. 

 

Elliott let out a long, deep hum that ended with something a little less human and grabbed Roy’s face, pulling him to face him. “Roy,” he said, with some effort, “what do you want, then?”

 

“You,” Roy mumbled before he could talk himself out of it, and kissed him again. 

 

Elliott put a hand up before his mouth, but a light was dancing in his eyes. Roy kissed his hand softly. 

 

“You know what I mean,” Elliott said. Sang.

 

“Ok! Ok,” Roy conceded, dropping his forehead against Elliott’s hand, against Elliott’s mouth. Elliott immediately lifted his face again, so they were making eye contact, and Roy shut his eyes. “I know there’s not, like… direct equivalents? But I mean, I want, what I want is like, something, uh, more than -” he stopped himself just in time from saying ‘more than you and Kenna have,’ and instead, weakly, made a circle with his finger and plunged the other through it.

 

Elliott burst out laughing. Roy took the opportunity to kiss him again, bury his hands in his feathers again. 

 

For a long time, Elliott touched him back, gently, so tenderly Roy was honestly getting up the nerve to say it, to really, actually say it, but then -

 

“Roy,” Elliott whispered against his mouth, “you must know. You can’t possibly be suggesting… I mean, we  _ can’t -” _

 

“It’s very rude to talk when someone’s kissing you, you know,” Roy said quickly, pushing just a little harder against Elliott’s face. 

 

Again, for a long time, Elliott said nothing. His hands stilled on Roy’s face, though, and then sunk onto his hair instead, fingers twisting, and then, very gently, pulling him back. Holding him steady, just far enough away so he could see Elliott’s face, something very  _ decided _ and sad there, something very decided and sad about to come out of his mouth, and Roy made a mad sideways grab for Elliott’s cloak on the table, missing entirely and toppling off the bed.

 

Elliott stared at him. Roy stood up quickly, trying to look like that was on purpose very hard, and dug hurriedly through Elliott’s pockets, pinching his finger on a twisted bit of metal puzzle thing and hissing, but diving right back in because frankly, this was an  _ emergency. _

 

“What,” Elliott said.

 

“Pause! Pause everything, hold up,” Roy said, waving a hand at him quickly. His fingers closed around something round, finally, and he pulled out Elliott’s timer with a little victory “Ah hah!’ and then tackled Elliott to the bed.

 

Elliott squawked, like, literally  _ squawked, _ shoving Roy off to the side and immediately and sitting up, “Roy!” he snapped, “I am attempting to have a conversation.”

 

“I know! I know, ok, and I’m sure you’re about to drop some serious wisdom and all that, really,” Roy started to twist the timer. He looked at that, instead of Elliott, heart hammering as he continued, “some really horrible wisdom. Some terrible truths. Some thought out, articulately phrased, hopeless  _ reality.  _ But frankly, we don’t have time,” he stopped for a moment and turned to look helplessly up at Elliott. “We don’t have enough time,” he said again, something twisting deep inside him.

 

Elliott didn’t say anything. Roy looked back at the timer, and continued to wind it. “So, how about this! We get to be happy till this timer goes off. Then, we can argue as much as you want.”

 

“Why do you think it’ll be an argument?” Elliott retorted.

 

Roy just raised his eyebrows. Elliott looked away. 

 

Roy continued to wind the timer. It was calming - the hum of it clicking against his fingers. It reminded him of something else. 

 

Suddenly, Elliott was lying down beside him and gently taking the timer from his hands. Roy let out a whine and tried to turn it one more time before it got too far away from him, and Elliott laughed, tossing it deftly onto the other bed. “It only goes back four hours, Roy. You’ve cycled it through seven times now.”

 

“Oh. Well,” he turned to Elliott. Hovered his hand by Elliott’s face for a moment, and Elliott reached up and pushed his hand down, fingers trailing to Roy’s wrist, holding it there. Roy swallowed. “Four hours,” he said softly. 

 

Elliott blinked at him, slow and sweet, and far too sad. Reached out and touched Roy’s face.

 

It was already smoother than before, their hands more confident. More than that, something solid and sure glowing between them now like an ember, even if Elliott did want to put it out. Roy wanted to burn himself on it.

 

2.5 times.

 

(Point five times more than Elliott and Kenna).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to turn this piece of fluff into the monster I planned on it becoming, so watch out! OCs, drama, and even more to come.


End file.
